dragging the man with him. Brutus knew he couldn’t escape; neither would he let this one go.
It was time to end all this.
But as Brutus sank into the pit, slipping away into the darkness, something stopped him, held him from falling. It made no sense. Though no one was behind him, he felt a distinct tug. On his tail. Holding him steady, then slowly drawing him back from the edge of the pit. Comprehension came slowly, seeping through the despair. He knew that touch. It was familiar as his own heart. Though it had no real strength, it broke him, shattered him into pieces.
He remembered that tug, from long ago, her special ambush.
Done to protect him.
Ever his guardian.
Even now.
And always.
“No, Benny!” the boy echoed.
The dog heard them both, the voices of those who loved him, blurring the line between past and present — not with blood and darkness, but with sunlight and warmth.
With a final shake against the horror, the dog turned his back on the pit. He undamped his jaws and tumbled off the man’s body. He stood on shaking limbs.
To the side, the trainer gagged and choked behind his black mask. The father closed in on him with the gun.
The dog limped away, three-legged, one forelimb dangling.
Footsteps approached from behind. The boy appeared at his side and laid a palm on his shoulder. He left his hand resting there. Not afraid. The dog trembled, then leaned into him, needing reassurance. And got it.
“Good boy, Benny Good boy.”
The boy sank to his knees and hugged his arms around the dog.
At long last…Benny let him.
